


Guilty of Murder

by JewellTrim



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-03 09:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14565642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JewellTrim/pseuds/JewellTrim
Summary: Someone's dead, and it seems that he killed them... I won't say more, you'll have to read to find out





	1. Chapter 1

"Can you please state your full name for the record."

"Ezra Patrick Standish."

"And can you please tell the court where you were the night of the sixteenth."

"I was in my apartment."

"And was Chris Larabee there with you?"

"He was."

"Was anyone else in your apartment besides the two of you?"

"There were."

"At the time of Larabee's death, was there anyone with you?"

"No. Everyone else had left by then."

"So, you were the only one in the room?"

"I was, yes."

"And the alcohol provided was your own, correct?"

"Yes."

A pause.

"You've known Mr. Larabee for quite some time now, correct? So, you would know of his alcohol addiction then, right?"

"We were all aware he drank a lot, but it was never considered by any of us that it was an addiction."

"Do you remember how many drinks he had that night?"

"I can't say that I do."

"How many times do you recall that he refilled his glass then?"

"I confess I wasn't counting. I'm not in charge of monitoring such things."

"Would you consider him irritable?"

"Mr. Larabee is generally irritable."

"Has he ever been drunk to the point of causing anyone physical harm?"

"Only to those who deserved it. Other than that, no."

"So would you consider yourself being a victim or a target of Mr. Larabee's?"

"Objection!"

"I withdraw the question, your honor. Mr. Standish, how would you describe your relationship with Larabee?"

"Professional."

"Yet, you invited him to your apartment."

"I invited all of my associates over that night."

"A singular event, you forgot to add. From the reports of your associates, you all have been invited to Mr. Larabee's house multiple times."

"Yes, he owns... he owned a ranch. Some of us kept our horses there and we'd go for rides."

"So it wasn't just a professional relationship you had with your supervisor."

"Objection!"

"Sustained."

"Mr. Standish?"

"It was only professional. I was encouraged by the others to attend."

"So, outside of work, you never hung out, just the two of you?"

"No."

"Reports from your co-workers state that you and he didn't get along. That he repeatedly verbally abused you."

"That's incorrect, we bantered from time to time, but that was all."

"He threatened to fire you after your first mission."

"I messed up. He had every right to."

"Those reports state that you were not in your position and left your associates to get ambushed and injured."

"But I came back in time to assist my associates and all turned out well in the end."

"That wasn't the first time you were reported to have gone rogue. From your time in the FBI, you were charged with suspicion of taking bribes and sharing government secrets."

"But not convicted because those were false."

"Did Mr. Larabee know about these reports?"

"Yes, he would've read them on my record before hiring me."

"No further questions, your honor."

 

The room filled once more for the closing statements to be said, parties affiliated were in the general area while the defendant and prosecutor lawyers were with their respective people. The jury sat on the side in their section while the judge entered and resumed his seat.

The defendant lawyer stood up, giving his final closing speech to the jury and judge before sitting down, letting the prosecutor to take over.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. You have here a case that is not only a grievous murder but one of malicious intent. Mr. Standish, a man who is not even trusted by his old department was given a second chance by Mr. Larabee. However, old habits die hard and when under threat, this man plotted his supervisor's death. A man who he claims to have quarrels with. But Mr. Standish didn't kill the victim by simply shooting him or stabbing him, no, he used Mr. Larabee's weakness of alcohol and poisoned him. With the other testimonies of those present, you know that only Mr. Larabee favored that particular whiskey and that it was bought by Mr. Standish. He had enough time to drop the victim home and knocked him into his own coffee table. Drunk, poisoned and unsteady on his feet, Larabee couldn't save himself from being bludgeoned to death, making it appear like it was an accident. Mr. Standish killed his boss, and should be charged with first-degree murder."

 

"I don't feel right doing this. There has to be another way."

"It's too late for that, JD. Once the jury comes back in the room, there will be no turning back."

"I know Buck. It's just that..."

"Buck, JD. The jury is back in the room."

"Seriously? They've only been gone for like five minutes!"

"I'm sorry, JD. If you want, I'll stay out here with you. Lord knows I can't be in there when they read their decision."

"Thanks, Vin, but I need to be in there. For Chris... and for Ezra."

"Don't be too loud when saying that. Ezra killed Chris, remember. He's a murder and doesn't deserve our sympathy."

"Brothers, it's time."

 

The jury entered the room and the judge turned to the juror number nine.

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

"We have your honor."

"Ezra Standish, rise for the reading. How do you find the defendant?"

"We find, Ezra Standish, guilty of first-degree murder."

"Ezra Standish, you have been found guilty and will serve a life prison sentence with no foreseeable parole. Case dismissed."

At the slam of the gavel, Ezra swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to remain calm as handcuffs were placed around his wrist. He looked back at his old team. A few of them wouldn't even look at him as he was led away through a back door.

 

 

"I still think this is a stupid idea."

"Relax, Nathan. Ezra is a professional. He knows what he is doing."

"I don't understand how you're okay with this, Buck. I would've thought you would be the one to try and infiltrate the prison."

"If I could do it without being caught, I would. However, Ezra's the best undercover agent, and with the FBI wanting to throw him in prison already with all the shit they've been throwing on his name, he was our best bet to have it be believable. He'll find Chris, I know he will."

"That is if our information was correct and Chris is at Centennial Correction Facility."

"With it being maximum security, this is the only way of finding out the truth. We have a man working on the inside and says that it was Chris."

"Not that I don't trust you, kid, but Chris would've found a way to contact us if it was him."

"He did Buck, through the contact. We'll have to wait for Ezra to get there, and then we'll have to wait several weeks before we get someone out there for a visit."

"Damn if any of this could be simple."


	2. Chapter 2

Ezra stepped off the prison bus along with the other men that had been convicted. They walked single-file through two sets of fences. Prisoners were out in the yard, and when upon noticing the new arrivals, they made their way over to observe them.

He got several cat-calls and whistles. A big man declaring he was going to make Ezra his bitch. Instead of letting everything get to him, Ezra looked at the man who had spoken to him and winked, "You wish you were man enough to tap this ass."

There were a few laughs from the other prisoners while the one who had been speaking leveled Standish with a glare.

Once inside, Ezra and the rest of the new prisoners were forced to do a full body check before they were told to change and then handed their bedding, a toilet roll and another pair of clothes with a jacket.

The noise grew louder as he got closer to where the other prisoners were kept. Taking a deep breath, Ezra steeled himself as an alarmed door was opened and they were marched in.

Cells were assigned, and Ezra found himself in a shared room with an arsonist who killed three people on his last stunt.

Lucky for Ezra, it seemed that whoever his contact was, had pulled some strings to keep him away from any of the criminals that he and his team caught. He would still have to wait for his contact to approach him to figure out where Chris was hopefully being held up. For now, he could only learn his new surroundings and not get claimed as someone's bitch until then.

 Sighing, Ezra laid down on his newly made bed and stared up at the ceiling.

 

 

His head rolled along the wall as he stared up at the ceiling of the padded room. Eyes unfocused and mouth slightly parted, he repeated the song in his head.

'Red, red, they're all dead'

'Death comes swift and upon you'

'Dead, dead, we're all dead'

'We're all gonna die and I'll be seeing you on the other side soon'

A buzzing noise had him sit up straight, his uniform hanging loosely on his thin body. The bones in his arms were nearly visible from malnourishment and his eyes held bags under them. Searching for the buzzing noise, he crawled on all fours, his head jerking in the direction he felt he heard the buzzing. Long strands of hair blocked his vision, but he didn't push it out of his way. Breathing heavily, he clawed at his hair and at his ears, smacking them to get rid of the buzzing. Curling up into a ball and drawing his legs to his chest, he tried to make himself as small as possible. Shaking, he began hitting his head on his knee, pleading for the noise to go away.

Guards entered the solitary confinement room and moved towards him. He didn't even struggle against them as they pinned him down why another man came into check up on him.

"It seems that our prisoner is behaving better today," smiled the man in the business suit.

"It won't be long before he will be too afraid to even leave his bed. With the dosages I've been given him, any small fears he would've had before will be sending him over the edge, along with new fears," laughed his associate who was in a doctor’s uniform.

"Very good. Let's keep our Mr. Westman on the treatment for now."

They left the room after the prisoner received another shot.

After he was alone again, the man crawled back into his corner and curled up in a ball. His shoes and socks had been taken off for fear of anything that might be inside them. The unnerving sensation of something crawling on him, had him clawing at his arms and then back. Whimpering in fear, he tore off his clothes and cast them across the room. His mind created false images of insects crawling over his skin and digging into him.

He gave a terrified scream and he began scratching himself till he started bleeding. Guards returned, and he was soon restrained by a straightjacket.

Food that had been delivered a few hours ago was taken away, untouched.

It only looked like fly maggots to him and he lost his appetite.

His only comfort could be his corner, and he pressed himself into it.

'Red, red, they're all dead'

'Death comes swift and upon you'

'Dead, dead, we're all dead'

'We're all gonna die and I'll be seeing you on the other side soon'

‘We’re all gonna die, We’re all gonna be seeing red real soon’

 

 

Ezra hadn't learned much from any of the other prisoners, other than the multiple ways they would like to take him. He had gotten into a couple of fights, but for the most part, he stayed away while he did his investigating. A man named Robbie the ripper was one of the people he found interesting to talk to. Not because he was rumored to have killed over fifty men and women, by cutting their throats and taking their hearts, but because his dark and twisted sense of humor seemed to repel everyone else. Ezra was told the story of how Robbie's first cellmate was found dead in his bed. After that, no one was forced to share a cell with him. He was about sixty years old and since he was ironically dying of heart disease, they hadn't put him on death row.

Ezra heard of Robbie the Ripper when he was still at the FBI. He hadn't been one of the agents working the case but was undercover doing another assignment. He had been caught five years ago, a fingerprint left at one of the crime scenes.

"I don't understand," Ezra began. He was sitting across from Robbie in the cafeteria, "You were rumored to have killed over fifty people. How is it that you were caught finally on a fingerprint?" It didn't make sense.

Robbie smiled and leaned back a little, a twinkle in his eye, "There's a rush that comes with the kills, but after a while, even that goes away and you grow bored. I'm old and dying. Figured this was as good as any retirement facility for someone in my line of work," he chuckled, showing slightly yellowed teeth.

Again, there was his dark humor, and Ezra forced himself to laugh and play the part of a criminal.

"So, how was it, killing your boss?"

"A long time coming."

Robbie shook his head, "I mean, what did it feel like?"

"Freeing."

"Did you hate him?"

Ezra swallowed a growing lump in his throat, "Yeah."

"Bullshit. I can see it in your eyes, Fed. I know a killer when I see one, and you ain't it. What was it? A crime of passion?"

Ezra knew he couldn't look away from the man, though he doubted it would do any good if he continued. This man was reading him like a magazine cover with big font and all. One of the things he knew would be unavoidable when entering the prison. People who read other people was something quickly picked up here.

"You cared about him, didn't you? Still do. Your eyes don't look like a man who just killed someone you cared about, so why are you in here?"

"Don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Ripper."

Robbie stabbed the space between Ezra's fingers with the end of his spoon. The noise drew some looks their way, but other than that, they were left alone.

Ezra kept his eyes on the older man, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes wanted to look down at the hand still clutching the spoon, but he wouldn't.

"You must be some kind of fool, being in here then, Fed. Your little lies might work out there with the rest of the world, but in here, no one likes to be lied to. That can cost you a rib."

Looking around to make sure they were still not to be overheard, Ezra finally turned back to Robbie. If anything, he could widen his search with this man's help. That, or lead Robbie to Chris and the old man could kill his boss.

"I'm actually in here to look for my boss," he finally shared.

"Look for him... in here? How did he get himself locked up? In Centinnal no less."

"I'm not sure. We don't have that much information, but we believe he is in here somewhere."

Robbie withdrew his spoon and resumed eating, "Finding your friend in here will be a bitch of a time. That's not even including the maximum-security area and death row."

"But did you hear about anyone coming in here within the past couple of months who was a fed?" Ezra pressed.

"Nope. He would've stood out like a teenage boy's morning erection," Robbie snorted.

"What about a blond, six foot two with green eyes. Kind of always mad looking."

Robbie made the appearance of one thinking before he shook his head, "Not really one to look at the newcomers, rather would wish to be left alone until my time comes."

Ezra sighed, feeling like he wasted his time.

"This man you're looking for, your boss. You really care about him."

"He saved my life," Ezra looked down at his food, finding interesting shapes in the brown stuff they called gravy, "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him."

"In more ways than one," Robbie snorted but gave a smirk. "If I hear anything about your man, I'll give you word."

Ezra nodded his thanks, and the older man picked up his tray and made his way to the trash cans.

Hopefully, the others were having more success than he was. Though, he really doubted it.


	3. Chapter 3

A week went by with no new discovery of Team Seven's fearless leader.

Ezra was sure he had checked everywhere in his section in the prison, and with alternating between laundry duty and kitchen duty, he still was unable to make any headway.

A mandatory chapel was that afternoon, and though he could use a brief distraction, he wasn't going to pretend as if he was a fan of church and everything like Josiah.

He sat in his plastic chair near the back, listening to the conversation around him while they waited for the chaplain to show up.

The seat next to his was taken by a heavyset man whose leg just so happened to brush up against his own.

Not even bothering to look over, Ezra scooted his seat a little further away. Dread fell over him as the man nudged his seat closer, spreading his legs out and again touching Ezra's. Only moving his eyes, Ezra saw the man touching himself while no doubt looking Ezra over.

On review, it was probably not the best place to sit, after all, the corner in the back of the room. No one could see what was going on to you, and you cornered yourself in.

Dammit!

The chaplain finally entered and took up position on the small stage.

Ezra found he recognized the man. Not from anything other than a brief introduction. It had been one of Chris's friends. A Navy chaplain. He must've switched from preaching to soldiers to preaching to convicts. A lot of lost souls here for sure.

The message for the day wasn't painfully long and had an open discussion at the end. When it was over, Ezra was grateful for the excuse to get out of his seat. The disgusting man who had been sitting next to him had made several attempts at laying his hands on him. One time, he got bold enough to actually try and reach between Ezra's legs, but Standish caught the hand and bent back the fingers until the man got the hint and stopped.

Moving to the front of the room, Ezra waited to have his turn to speak with the chaplain. It was best if he were last so they wouldn't be overheard.

"What can I do for you, brother?" asked the chaplain who, for the newcomers, told them his name was Zack Yates.

"I believe we met before, sir," Ezra smiled, giving the man a smile since he felt that a handshake would be frowned upon by the guards nearby.

"Is that so? Did you come to one of my sermons before?"

"No, but I believe our mutual acquaintance introduced us a while back. A tall man with blond hair and a short temper," Ezra tested.

"That sounds like a few men in here, but I believe I know to whom you're referring to," the man nodded, his eyes showing his understanding.

"Have you seen our mutual friend lately?"

Yates looked to the guard before gesturing for Ezra to take a seat with him.

"Tell me about yourself, brother."

Ezra frowned in annoyance, "You know I'm not here to talk to you about myself. Normally I'd have more patience and give you a story, feed you lies and all that shit, but no. I've been groped and harassed since I've been here. I've been in six fights and the whole dropping soap thing nearly became my fate. So don't fuck with me!"

Yates smiled, not put out by the other man's anger, "Definitely one of Chris's. I suppose you don't want to be told that you take after him."

"The way you put it, it sounds like you're referring us to father and son. In that case, you would be wrong."

"Yes, but I was thinking more along the lines of father-figure. That was for me too when I served under Larabee. I remember a conversation we had a couple of months ago when we hung out together one evening. He told me about you boys. Damn proud of each and every one of you. Especially 'his boys' as he referred to you, Tanner and Dunne. You three give the rest of them gray hairs with all the stress you lot cause," Yates chuckled.

As much as Ezra wanted to continue this conversation about what Larabee said about them while he was with his old friends, Standish was on a mission.

"Is he here?" he asked in a low voice.

"Pretty sure, yes."

"But not a hundred percent?"

"Time to go," called the guard.

Ezra reluctantly stood up along with Yates.

"I'll see you next week for chapel," the chaplain smiled.

"And if I need saving before then?" Ezra asked.

Yates handed him his business card.

"I suggest you don't spend all your phone calls calling me, but try and talk to your family some. Remember, the road to salvation is seeking forgiveness. With yourself and with those whose lives you've touched."

Yates walked out of the room and Ezra slipped the card into his pocket to read later.

His time out in the yard was as unpleasant as usual. The smell of cigarettes had lost its appeal and the way these men were puffing them, they were trying to shorten their lifespan with getting lung cancer.

As he sat against the wall, a secure spot in which he could see everything around him, he decided to check the card Yates gave him. On one side it had the man's number and name, on the other side, it had the section name in which Chris was possibly being held up in.

Sighing, Ezra stuffed the small piece of paper back into his pocket. From the distance, he could see Robbie making his way over to him.

"I know they say fresh air and exercise is good for the health, Mr. Ripper, but with so many people smoking, I don't think it is wise to be out here with your already compromised health."

"Stop fretting about me, Fed," Robbie grumbled as he took a seat by Ezra with at least an arm's distance between them, "Been asking around. Seems that a few people saw your boy come in here a while back."

"Do they know where he was placed?" Ezra tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

"Section F. They keep the mentally unstable ones down there. Your man must've cracked, whatever happened to him."

Ezra frowned, "Chris would never suddenly have mental problems. He's fine."

"Well, then that must mean there is someone who wants to make others believe he's gone mental. If that's the case, you're looking at him possibly being transferred to another facility like a sanitorium for prisoners. I'm talking electric shock therapy and drooling."

Standish sighed, not knowing what he should do next.

"I suppose that section is closed off from the rest of the prison."

"Secured door with lots of cameras on the other side," Robbie nodded.

Ezra rose a questioning eyebrow as he looked at the older man sitting next to him, "You've been on that side?"

"Once. When my heart tried to give out a couple years back. It definitely ain't the place you'd want to stay in for too long. You might not come back out."

"So, let's just say, if I were to get injured, I'd be taken back there for treatment," Ezra asked hypothetically.

Robbie looked at him as if he were crazy, "Why the hell would you want to do a foolish thing like that? Even if your boss is back there. You'll be locked up in a separate room from him. Those doors don't open once they close either unless they want them to. You're basically in solitary confinement."

"I need to make sure he's in there and assess his condition."

Robbie snorted, "Again if he's in there and hasn't been out since the beginning of his stay, I'd say that his condition ain't looking too hot."


	4. Chapter 4

Jerking back awake from the short amount of sleep he did get. The man looked around the enclosed space apprehensively. The straight jacket had been removed but the man had discarded his clothes once more. Ribs poked out beneath his skin and he looked pale in the eerie light. At the door, there was a tray of food waiting for him to eat. He stared at it as if waiting for it to move or rather something to move off of it. When nothing happened, he crept forward, making a wide circle around it before finally getting closer.

From what he could see, there were no maggots or flies on it.

Starving, he collapsed onto his knees and ate with his bare hands like a starved animal. Mashed potatoes were smeared over his face as he tried to scoop it up and shove it into his mouth all at once. When he began to choke, guards had to come in and help him cough up the food. His body was sore from the ministrations and with dismay, he saw over half of his food disappear out of the room, leaving him with a small amount. Hungry and tired, he just laid out on the floor in a ball weeping. His fingernails dug into his scalp as he wailed. Exhaustion finally took over and he fell asleep once more.

The sound of the door opening made him wake up after only twenty minutes had passed. Two men walked into the cell and the prisoner scooted back away from them.

"Mr. Westman, how are you feeling today?"

Confusion crossed his face as he looked up at the two men. Not really recognizing either of them.

"You do know who you are, right Mr. Westman?" tested the man again.

Eyes flickering as if racking his brain for information that wasn't there, he finally murmured, "I am nobody," he looked back down at the ground.

"That's right, and we're here to keep you safe from yourself and from hurting others. It isn't safe for you outside of this room, so you just sit tight here. Do you understand?"

The prisoner nodded obediently, not bothering to put up a fight and trusting these men knew what they were talking about.

"Now Dr. Douglas is going to give you your shots for today," the man in the suit continued while the man who was Dr. Douglas stepped forward. The doctor took the man's veiny arm and injected the contents of the needle into him.

For a brief moment, there was a pricking feeling that made the man whimper. He was allowed to have his arm back after a bandage was taped down so he wouldn't be able to scratch it. The impulse to do so was great.

"Now, Mr. Westman, you mustn't mess with that bandage. You won't get better if you do," instructed the doctor.

The two men then left and only the sound of their muffled voices on the outside was heard.

The man slowly scratched at the area underneath the bandage, glaring at the thing that was obviously hiding something he knew was unpleasant.

He had the uneasy feeling that something had crawled up his veins during the doctor's visit, and was now in his blood.

His mind warped his vision as he saw lumps move underneath his skin and then something that looked like a fly, buzzing. It's little wings hit underneath his skin rapidly as it tried to escape.

Screaming and shrieking, he clawed at his skin and at the bandage with renewed energy, determined to get them out.

 

"I would say the treatment will be a brilliant success. Even at this stage, he has lost most of his senses with fear controlling him," grinned the man in the suit.

"Indeed. I would go so far as to say that no matter what, the treatment is irreversible. His fears will lead him to an early grave," cackled his companion

"Once we are through with him, he will be nothing more than a drooling imbecile incapable of not shitting himself."

The two shared a laugh before walking out of the secure section of the prison.

 

 

 

Ezra took a deep breath, trying to calm himself from his growing unease. He lay on his bed, staring upwards while his right arm was extended over the side of the bed towards Robbie.

The older man looked at him skeptical that Standish was completely in his right mind, and absolutely sure he wanted to go through with this.

"You know, Fed, as much as you want to get your friend out of here, I don't think breaking your bones in your right arm is a smart idea. Hell, you'd be fucked for life if they reset them wrong."

"I've broken bones before, Mr. Ripper. I know how unpleasant it is," Ezra drawled, still trying to calm himself. "Besides, while I am ambidextrous, I am more left dominate."

"Shit, this ain't one of those times where you don't see it coming," Robbie shook his head.

"Well, even when I don't, the pain is still a bitch. Could you get it over with or else I'll--"

Ezra was cut off by the sharp pain in his arm was soon numb before he was able to shove a part of his cover in his mouth to bite down on. The pain continued as one after another, Robbie broke his fingers.

Hot tears ran down Standish's face as he tried to distract himself. Muffled screams tore from his mouth as the treatment continued.

 

Cradling his broken arm and hand to his chest, Ezra walked with two guards to Section F. Though the pain was biting, and he really felt like passing out, Standish concentrated on the number and location of the security. Robbie wasn't exaggerating when he retold his time being there. The cameras and guards alone were enough to raise Ezra's curiosity of what went on back here. He counted three security doors he had passed through, each needing a clearance card.

The man attending his injuries had him sit on a table while he documented the injuries and took Ezra's statement on how he got them.

Since he was feeling a little revengeful, Ezra gave him the names and inmate numbers of all the men so far who tried to molest him, not leaving out his friend from chapel who tried to make a move on him.

While he sat on the observation table, Standish became alert and rigid at the recognition of a familiar voice. Ezra kept his head down, avoiding the man's gaze as they entered the room and began talking to the doctor who was working on him.

"Did you already visit your friend today, sir?" asked the doctor with a pleasant tone.

"Yes, he seems to be growing worse."

"That is a shame. While yes, he is a criminal, to suffer such a severe mental breakdown is unimaginable."

"Dr. Douglas is seeing what he can do here for him, but I'm afraid his situation is declining far faster than we are able to fix it," the unnamed speaker said with little sympathy while talking about a patient.

"Well I thank you for bringing in Dr. Douglas and I hope not all is lost for Mr. Westman," the doctor continued, unable to discern the false words from the other man.

There was a pause where Ezra was sure the man was looking him over before he left the room.

With an inaudible sigh, Ezra tried to remember where he had heard that voice from and why he got a bad feeling from what he had overheard just now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry I've been away. Graduating and then moving twice is hard. I will remain extremely busy this summer finishing up classes to get my diploma while working, but I shall try to write still.

Ezra pressed his forehead to the cool brick wall as he listened to the phone ring, waiting for the other end to pick up. His eyes were closed, still trying to concentrate on figuring out the name of the voice he had heard while in Section F.   
The phone ringed four times before he heard a familiar voice that instantly made him relax a little.  
“Ezra?”  
“Good afternoon, Mr. Dunne. I presume that the others are with you,” Ezra drawled as he stood up straighter, head lowered, looking at his arm.  
“Yeah we’re here Ezra,” came Buck’s voice, “How're things going on your end? Any success?”  
“More importantly, has anyone tried to kill you?” Nathan’s serious tone seemed a bit further from the phone than Buck’s.  
“There have been a few attempts on my person, not all with the intent to necessarily end my life, but more along the lines of making me truly uncomfortable.” There was a long pause and Ezra silently chuckled, “That would be a yes, Mr. Jackson. However, I think I’m as popular here as Mr. Wilmington is with the ladies, with less tack than our Casanova.”  
He heard the bubbly laughter coming from JD and even heard the thud from Buck smacking JD with something. No doubt the sports magazine he read about this time during the day during lunch.  
“I’ll try and take that as a compliment,” Buck said over the phone.  
“Have you found anything about Chris?” came Vin’s voice finally.  
Ezra gave a weary sigh, “nothing concrete, as of it. I have a lead I’m going to pursue, but so far it’s just a hunch. I heard someone today who had a familiar voice that I just can’t seem to place right now. We’ve dealt with him before, I’m certain of it.”  
“Another criminal locked up? I thought we got you in the prison where you wouldn’t be seeing anyone from the cases we’ve worked on,” came JD’s concerned voice.  
“That would be nearly impossible with our conviction rates, Mr. Dunne. Even more so with my past history with the FBI. This person though, he wasn’t wearing this dreadful attire. He was in a suit.”  
“That’s weird.”  
“He was talking about a patient, a Mr. Westman. Apparently, he’s suffering from a ‘mental break down’.”  
“You don’t believe that to be the case?” Nathan spoke up again.  
“The man didn’t even put forth the effort to hide his sarcasm of regret to the man’s declined health. Something is going on here that doesn’t seem right,” Ezra shifted his body to rest his back up against the wall. His shoulder accidentally bumped into the phone shield and he grunted in pain when it aggravated his sling.  
“Ezra? Are you alright?”  
“Merely a broken arm, Mr. Jackson,” Ezra slurred.  
“’Merely?! What the hell happened?”  
“I asked my new acquaintance, Mr. Ripper to assist me in getting into the higher security-level Section. They usually only treat patients back there. Mostly if they are likely to hurt themselves and are unstable.”  
“Are you saying you’re stuck in there?” asked Buck warily.  
“No, I only went in briefly to get my broken arm reset. I-”  
“You’re broken arm?! Someone broke your arm?” exclaimed Nathan.  
“Yes, Mr. Jackson. The only way I’d get back there was to need medical assistance that didn’t just require a quick bandage. I was there for only thirty minutes to survey the area,” Ezra looked around to make sure that he was completely alone in the hall, “I may have also gotten a way to get back in.”  
Ezra could hear one of the others trying to calm Nathan down as the doctor muttered in the background of none of this being a good idea anymore.  
“Don’t worry about Nathan. He’s been a bit uptight and anxious since he had to falsify the documents on ‘Chris’s death’.” Buck sighed, “We all are a bit worried about this.”  
“Shouldn’t he be more upset with Mr. Tanner. I believe finding a look-a-like for Chris in the morgue was his idea.”  
“Yes, but the two of you seem to rush in with these ideas and by the time we come in to save your asses, you’re about halfway deep into your messes.”  
“And for the record,” Vin spoke up again, “Finding the body was me, but you infiltrating the prison was your idea after JD got the intel.”  
Another smack was heard and a yelp from JD.  
“Gentlemen, I’ll be needing to go soon. I’ll contact you next week if there are any new updates. Mr. Dunne, if you would be so kind as to see if you can locate any information on a Mr. Westman that would be extremely helpful. That and a Zack Yates. He said he served with Mr. Larabee.”  
“I can answer that one for you Ez,” Buck offered, “Yeah I knew Yates as well. The three of us served together. Great guy to talk to. Reminds me a bit of Josiah, except younger.”  
“He knows about us, apparently from Mr. Larabee,” Ezra stressed.  
“Chris told me a while back that he was talking to one of our men from our Navy days. He didn’t say who though. Been spending the last year talking to the men who were under him. Some of the poor bastards are suffering still from the war.”  
“Don’t you think it’s a strange coincidence that Mr. Larabee somehow ends up in the same prison as one of his fellow officers?”  
There was silence on the other end for a while.  
“It does seem odd, and with Chris’s behavior before his disappearance, it could be that he was hiding something.”  
“You think Chris was working with Yates with something going on in the prison?” asked JD to no one in particular.  
“Baby Yates would definitely be the kind of man to seek justice, especially in dangerous places like this. If he was talking to Chris at the time, he may have asked for help.”  
“Baby Yates? Geez, and I thought it was bad being called ‘kid’,” JD murmured.  
“It’s cause he couldn’t grow facial hair for the longest. For a time we did call him Peach Fuzz when he did manage to grow something.”  
“Well, I need to go. I’ll talk to you all later,” Ezra ran his hand over his face, tired from the medication he was given.  
He received goodbyes from each of them before he hung up the phone with a sigh.

  
Heels from dress shoes clicked on the stone ground as they made their way down the cool hallway. Each cell they passed they would look inside the peephole to check the prisoner. His smile widened, licking his lips in pleasure as he saw one cradling form after another.  
So many broken souls. So much successful cases. I’ll be making thousands in no time!  
The last cell he stopped at was his second to the last admission: Mr. Westman. His fingernails were bloody along with his arms from where he’d claw at them. This made him smile. If he wanted to, he’d be able to make these patients do absolutely anything to themselves, or to anyone.  
That brought him to his final admission. Opening up the peephole, he expected to see a figure somewhere in the room. It looked empty. Frowning, he called for guards and typed in the passcode opening the door.  
The guards got there just in time as a man jump out from the blind spot and wrap his hands around the other man’s neck. The two guards pried the inmate off, beating him until he crumpled to the ground in pain.  
Straightening his clothes and clearing his throat, the man dressed in the suit looked down at his assailant.  
“It seems you still have some fight left in you, Mr. Gaines. No worries, we’ll get rid of that violent tendency of yours. We can’t have you attacking the other prisoners, no can we?”  
Cold green eyes glared back at him.  
“Oh, I do hope you keep up this spirit. It won’t be near as fun if you were to break so easily.”  
The guards dragged the prisoner, who was too sore to fight back, to the far wall and chained him there.  
The man in the suit sat down in a chair that was brought in by a third guard.  
“Now, Mr. Gaines—”  
“That’s not my fucking name,” growled the prisoner.  
“But I believe it is, Mr. Gaines. You may have changed it, gotten a different identity, but that doesn’t mean that your history is completely gone.”  
The prisoner clenched his fist and lowered his gaze to the floor.  
The man pulled out an envelope from his jacket and dropped the contents on the floor just out of the prisoner’s reach. They were pictures.  
The prisoner looked up and saw the familiar faces and automatically tried to reach for them.  
Cold metal pulled him back against the wall, stilling his movements.  
“Now, we’re going to do a little-controlled treatment. I can’t technically harm you. Physically that is, but…” the man sprinkled a liquid onto the pictures that had formed a half circle around the prisoner, “I can mess with your head as much as I want.”  
A match was lit and dropped onto the igniting fluid. Immediately the wet paper caught the flames.  
The green eyes grew wide in shock and horror. Wanting to lunge forward to save the pictures, but also fear kept him backed up against the wall. He watched in devastation as one picture after another was sent up in flames that now surrounded him, making the area around him hot. The faces were being swallowed up by black ash, smiles of familiar faces disappearing once more.  
The man in the suit smiled in pleasure as he watched.


End file.
